


shall never reveal the best of you

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Character defense, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: You are eleven-twelve-thirteen and you fight for scraps of safety and you are vicious when you’re backed into a corner. You jot down improvements in the margins of your potions textbooks. You whisper spell incantations under your breath, invent better and more powerful curses. You protect yourself however you can.Or: In defense of Severus Snape.





	shall never reveal the best of you

You are eleven and a hat looks into the darkest corners of your mind and see that you are hungry, willing to fight for scraps, willing to be vicious when you are cornered. It decides that hunger is the same as ambition and puts you in Slytherin. You aren't sure if it's wrong.

 

You are eight and you find a girl who is a freak like you and her sister hates you because you are poor and because she can get away with it — but Lily stands up for you. You are eleven and you are on a train and a group of boys you have never met decides they hate you because they can get away with it — but Lily stands up for you.

You are eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen and you have exactly one friend in the world, one beam of light in a dark room, one way out of a locked room, one single rope in a stormy sea. You love her. Of course you do.

 

You are thirty-seven and Albus Dumbledore asks you to make yourself a villain for him, asks you to make yourself even more hated for him, asks you to kill him.

You are thirty-seven and this is your only way to redemption, your only way out. You take it.

 

You are fifteen and the only people who do not hate you hate your first and only friend. You've gotten good at curses but they're better, you've gotten good at protective spells but they're older than you and stronger than you and crueler than you.

You are fifteen and you sleep in the same room as boys who brag about killing and you are not allowed anything else. They don't like you any more than anyone else does but there is green on your sleeve so they won't torture you yet.

You are fifteen and you have been cornered all your life and when boys who brag about killing people like Lily are watching, you do not treat her as a friend. It would not be safe for you; it would not be safe for her.

You are fifteen and you are cornered and you panic and you lash out and you lash out at _her_ and by the time you realize what you've done she hates you too.

You are fifteen and you sleep in the same room as boys who brag about killing. You are vicious when you are cornered; they are vicious all the time. You're good at protective charms; they're better at breaking them. You're good enough at curses to have invented your own; there are more of them than there are of you. The only way to safety is to join them.

You are fifteen and you do what you have to do.

 

You are thirty-two and trapped in a job you loathe and trapped in a castle where you have never been anything but angry and scared and terrified and your colleagues saw how hurt you were and they did nothing, you cannot trust them to help you, you cannot trust anyone but yourself.

You are thirty-two and you lash out because _that is what you do when you are trapped._

 

You are twenty-one and your first friend your best friend the love of your life is dead.

You are twenty-one and it is _your fault._

You are twenty-one and you are surrounded by people who would happily torture you for any reason or for no reason at all and you have been cornered all your life. There is _no way out_ and so you do what you have never done before — you ask for help.

 

You are sixteen and your classmate tries to kill you.

You are thirty-four and that classmate’s best friend is your colleague now and he still loathes you, still humiliates you at every chance he can.

You are thirty-four and you make him Wolfsbane and when he forgets to take it you step in front of the students he is going to kill and ensure that no damage is done. 

You are thirty-four and your colleague has tried to kill three students, he is not safe to have in a school, and all of your other colleagues want you to stay silent. 

You are thirty-four and your colleague has tried to kill three students, he is not safe to have in a school, and you do not stay silent. 

 

You are fourteen and you are cornered and you are so scared and no adult has ever made things better, no parent or teacher or headmaster has ever helped, the most you can get them to do is give you detention for an hour so that you would not be quite so vulnerable.

You are twenty-one and you are trapped and you beg for help from a man who has never helped you because _there is no other way out._

 

You are eleven-twelve-thirteen and your entire school hates you, because you are poor and because you are not handsome and because you have green on your sleeves and because you are halfblood and because your only friend is a muggleborn and, sometimes, simply because you exist.

You are eleven-twelve-thirteen and you live in dark corners, in empty classrooms. You memorize which teachers only have you do lines, so that if you really need it you can create for yourself a safe place to exist for an hour, two, three. There are protective spells around your bed. You do not use secret passages; those who hate you know them better than you do.

You are eleven-twelve-thirteen and you fight for scraps of safety and you are vicious when you’re backed into a corner. You jot down improvements in the margins of your potions textbooks. You whisper spell incantations under your breath, invent better and more powerful curses. You protect yourself however you can.

 

You are twenty and you do not realize how trapped you are until, suddenly, you do.

 

You are six and your father puts out his cigarettes on your arm because the ashtray isn’t within his reach. You are eleven and your house is always dark and your mother is always crying and your father doesn't want you to be a freak but this is your only way out. You take it.


End file.
